


WASTED ▷ l.c.d.p.

by poppycock365



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: ASPD OC, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Betrayal, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Romance, Major Character Injury, Mentions of Smut, Murder, No Lesbians Die, Non-Canon Bisexual Character, Obsession, Organized Crime, Partners in Crime, Pining, Police Brutality, Racist Language, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Torture, Violence, White Collar Crime, mafia, mentions of illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24910900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppycock365/pseuds/poppycock365
Summary: ❝ 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 ❞【oc x nairobi】【oc x berlin】
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Original Female Character(s), Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote/Original Female Character(s), Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez/Original Female Character(s), Professor | Sergio Marquina/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	1. INTRODUCTION

♔

❝ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐀𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲.

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐚.

𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞. ❞

♔

𝐉𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀: 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐄

𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍: 𝟐𝟓𝐭𝐡 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟑

♔

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

_partners in crime; set it off_

_hit and run; lolo_

_bitch better have my money; rihanna_

_you don't own me; lesley gore_

_sucker_ _for pain;_ _imagine_ _dragons_

_blood // water; grandson_

_wires; the neighbourhood_

_you_ _should see me in a crown; billie eilish_

_horns; bryce fox_

_bare; wildes_

_montagne verdi; marcella bella_

_moral of the story; ashe_

♔

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

Before you read this book, I have a few things to tell you.

First, Jelena is probably gonna have some dialogue with Helsinki and Marseille in Serbian (because I'm Serbian and because I can) so use google translate I don't care honestly. I'm not sure if Marseille is Croatian but the actor is and he speaks Serbian anyway so we'll see.

The playlist is not in a particular order because there's still not enough songs on it.

Also, the story kicks off at the beginning of season 3, including all the flashbacks.

And yes, the look for Jelena is literally just Jessica Chastain as Vuk in The Dark Phoenix, but I don't know, I just thought she would be fitting for this OC.

Anyway, I'm gonna leave you to it and hope that this piece of crappy writing gives you some entertainment.

\- j.v.


	2. 𝟏 | 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jelena (Belgrade) arrives at the monastery and is introduced to the rest of the group.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘, 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐘, 𝟑 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐃-𝐃𝐀𝐘

The gloomy weather was reminiscent of the way that she felt about her return. It was a bitter feeling on her tongue, walking up to the crumbling monastery made of yellowed stone. It hasn't changed a bit. There was a sacred aura residing within those walls, both because it was a house of God and because of the heavy weight all of her memories carried. They weren't necessarily good memories, at least now they weren't, tainted by time and a number of very unfortunate events.

She entered through the weathered wooden door, breathing in the stale smell of incense and dust. The thick aroma of the air made her head heavy as she strolled through a stone hallway. Light trickled in through the colourful arched windows, creating an enchanting glow inside of the old building. The romantic atmosphere made her stomach knot, something she thought she'd be immune to upon returning.

Her heart was beating wildly inside of her chest as she made her way through the hallways, the blood red stained soles of her Christian Louboutin's shoes banging against the floor and leaving a violent racket echoing behind her as she moved forward. This wasn't something she expected, to feel like this, but life had a way of keeping her humble and reminding her that she was still and forever will be human. She had never been big on confrontation, but at the same time, she knew she would feel like bashing in Sergio's head as soon as she saw him. What a warm greeting that would be after three years of not speaking to each other. Was she anxious or excited? She couldn't tell.

There was chatter in the yard. As she approached, she could be certain she heard Martin's infatuating laugh. She didn't have time to think about it and she had nothing to say. It was too late to come up with a good story about how broken she was or how much she missed them.

There were only a few more strides to take before she would be visible to all those present in the yard. She ran her hand through her hair, which was now stark white. It was hard not to notice her. A pale, tall, aging woman in her thirties, dressed in a gray trench coat and black jeans paired with a black turtleneck jumper. She wore contacts that made her eyes look like they were a shade of dark oak wood.

Her shoes clicked against the smooth stone floor one last time as she stopped. The chatter paused. She was in clear line of view of her former friends and future colleagues, who were now all staring at her.

Martin's smile faded. He started standing up, his face full of shock, but Sergio beat him to it. Marquina was on Martin's right, staring at her like he was a deer in the headlights. His arms were rigid next to his body, an uncomfortable tension in his hunched shoulders.

There it was then. The anger. She had to make a conscious effort to stop her hands from balling up into fists and to make her shoulders relax. They couldn't afford to stomp out the team spirit this early on, so she did one of the things she did best. She pretended. For the sake of a good first impression, of course.

"Professor," she smiled pleasantly, using the name Sergio assigned to himself, "Aren't you going to greet your old friend?" 

A shadow glazed over Sergio's eyes. So this was the Professor. His shoulders relaxed and he held his head high, completely changing his composure in an instant. It made her smile wider.

"Welcome, Belgrade," he cleared his throat, pushed his glasses up his nose and circled around Martin to stand in front of her, "Welcome back." He said softly once they were face to face, the darkness gone from his eyes. He still couldn't last long.

She hugged him and quickly let go, it wasn't time for affection and intimacy. Not that she had any. At least not for Sergio.

"Belgrade." Martin- _Palermo_ smiled and came over to them. His eyes were as vibrant and as happy as ever. The melancholy and sadness made them sparkle like the brightest of stars. He looked older, but as handsome and as charming as ever.

"Palermo, my friend," she smiled, trying out his assigned name with a sarcastic undertone. The two of them hugged and this time she felt warmth fill her body as she relaxed in his arms. If going back in time was necessary, this was the part of the past she wasn't ashamed of longing for.

Once they separated she looked over the group of people sitting at the table. They were inspecting her with great curiosity and obvious suspicion. _Who is this woman who decided to show up to our little gathering unannounced_ , was what Jelena imagined they thought.

"This is Belgrade," Professor introduced her, "She has decided to help us by making a use of her..." Sergio waved his hand, struggling to find the right words, "... vast skill set. She's good with guns and weapons and she's very imaginative when it comes to robberies. She-"

"Please," Belgrade held up her hand to stop him from trying to suck up to her any more, "What our dear _Professor_ is trying to say is that I'm a criminal. And a good one at that. And from what I've heard you're very talented too, so I hope we will get along and I look forward to working with you."

The group relaxed a little. _That_ is how you butter up people. Sergio could still learn a few things from her.

"Well," Sergio cleared his throat, "Belgrade why don't you join us for lunch so the gang can get to know you better."

She turned to him with a bitter smile. ' _Gang? Are we in preschool?_ ' was what she wanted to say, but instead she nodded and replied with, "Certainly."

The two of them stared at each other for a second longer, but it was enough to show Sergio they weren't on friendly terms. 

After all, he was responsible for the death of her soulmate.


	3. 𝟐 | 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓

She inspected his portrait stood on an easel and covered in dust. He looked older than he was when the portrait was painted. Perhaps it was because of the cracks in the thick layers of oil paint, but he looked tired. Worn out. His arms were stiff and she thought about the way he would have looked when he was executed by ten armed men. She knew how dead people looked, but she couldn't imagine _him_ dead. Yet there she was, all she could do was gaze hopelessly at his portrait and try to convince herself that him being riddled with bullets like a Swiss cheese was the lesser of two evils.

"Do you want some wine? Whiskey?" a trembling voice sounded from behind her. When Jelena turned around she didn't spare him from the judgmental glare. Everyone else was sound asleep, there was no more pretending.

"I could yell at you, Sergio, I really could," she stated and took a few steps closer to him, calm and collected, "But there's a child sleeping in a room down the hall, so be thankful that I don't want to ruin my first impression on our dear colleagues."

"I'm sorry," he whispered as she slowly shortened the distance between them, "I didn't know he was going to get himself killed." He looked genuinely scared. Tears were already pooling up in his eyes. He could never get over the matter of who she is and the things she did.

"Sergio," she muttered as she caressed his cheek and felt his heart race when she gently pressed her hand against his chest, "I'm deeply disappointed. I thought you had the plan of the Royal Mint under control. How many were killed? Hm? Oslo..." she tugged at the top button of his shirt, batting her eyelashes up at him, "Moscow... and your brother. Berlin," she paused, her tone changing from a teasing to a monotone one, "Andrés."

Sergio cleared his throat and was about to say something, but an intruder beat him to it. "What's happening here?" the woman sounded shocked, "Sergio?"

Jelena stepped back, "Inspector," she greeted Sergio's girlfriend, "Couldn't sleep? I hear liquor is a great way to wash away regrets that may keep one awake." There was no need to act innocent in front of Raquel Murillo. She knew how to spot manipulation and deception when she saw them. Most of the time.

"I have no regrets," the former police inspector snarled, "And you should call me Lisbon."

"Lisbon," Jelena nodded, "I hope you aren't jealous of a little... catching up between friends. No need to feel insecure." 

"Jelena." Sergio warned curtly, "I understand that you're hurt and that you are mad at me, that's completely fine. But I won't allow you to take it out on Raquel." The Professor returned. Sergio looked like he was about to strangle her and she enjoyed it. Irritating him was way too satisfying, especially when he thought he had the right and power to claim any control over her.

"I am hurt. I'm hurt by how impotent and reckless you are with your plans. It's embarrassing how you think you honoured your father by executing such a pathetic heist at the Royal Mint. That's why I'm not going to let you ruin this one. I'm so fucking bored of you and your ideals," she sneered, her patience slowly fading away as she continued to speak directly into his face, "You want to achieve some utopia where there is no unjust system and rigged hierarchy but you're willing to sacrifice your men to get there. That's what is called hypocrisy, my dear friend, and nobody is going to respect your philosophy when they know that you live by _cilj opravdava sredstvo._ "

"You talk about hypocrisy?" Sergio grew angry as well, pushing up his glasses as his eyes flashed in her direction, "Did you think about how hypocritical it was of you when you led on my brother the whole time we were here and then you-" 

"Pardon the intrusion," a male voice interrupted this time, "But isn't it a bit late for this?" Once Sergio moved, Jelena saw her best friend, dressed in a white tank top, boxers and a silk robe, standing under the arch of the dusty old chapel.

"It is," the white haired woman nodded, "Let's go to bed. Sergio and I can have our discussion some other time."

"That's what you call a discussion?" Lisbon muttered under her breath, but Jelena was already in front of her when she lifted her gaze.

"I don't take constructive criticism," the Serbian woman smiled down at the slightly older but also slightly shorter brunette, "Goodnight, Lisbon." She bent down and kissed the woman's cheek before she turned around to witness Martin rolling his eyes and motioning for her to go quicker.

The two of them left the chapel with Sergio frustrated and Raquel stunned. Why did the Professor choose such an unpredictable woman with no boundaries for this heist? As if they didn't already have enough problems. Having another loose canon locked up inside the Bank of Spain for several days wasn't ideal; though what Raquel didn't understand was that Jelena was an essential catalyst for the plan to work.

* * *

𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝟕 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐃-𝐃𝐀𝐘

_"_ _You're_ _awfully quiet this afternoon," he told her, gazing ahead where golden light seeped through pink and orange clouds as the sun sunk behind the horizon made of red roof shingles._

_She kept staring before her, her_ _elbows_ _resting firmly against the concrete railing of the restaurant's balcony. "Why did you call me? What is my role in all of this?" she questioned, not directly him, but rather_ _questioned_ _whether or not she was_ _truly_ _necessary to the plan._

_He smiled to himself, "Well," he_ _thought_ _about it,_ _"first_ _of all,_ _you're_ _a_ _reliable_ _friend._ _Second_ _of all, you are very intelligent and the third reason..." The man chuckled and_ _she_ _finally_ _looked at him, her charcoal coloured hair swaying over her shoulder, "The_ _third_ _reason is kind of obvious."_

 _She grinned, in a matter that was clearly disingenuous, but one could be fooled if they spent too long under her spell. The_ _sunset_ _burned in her cold blue eyes, "I feel exploited," she teased._

 _"_ _I'm_ _very sorry to hear that," he played along, "How_ _could_ _I repay you for such inconsiderate actions?"_

_She laughed, "Two or three additional gold bars should do the trick."_

_"All I can guarantee right now is a very passionate kiss with a view of a beautiful Florence sunset," he moved closer to her, their shoulders barely apart._

_She gazed into his eyes and then glanced at his lips,_ _leaning_ _in dangerously close, "I'm sorry, Andrés, but_ _it's_ _the gold or nothing."_

 _"Is my_ _affection_ _of no value to you?" he pretended to be hurt, knowing full well that_ _Jelena_ _loves to play_ _with_ _people in all kinds of ways. Especially him, who always fell victim to_ _her_ _shamelessly_ _obvious bait._

_Her ocean eyes drowned him once he gazed deeply into them._

_"Not if it_ _can't_ _pay the rent."_


	4. 𝟑 | 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been a while.

𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐃, 𝐃-𝐃𝐀𝐘

They were getting ready to enter the Bank of Spain. Men and women nervous and excited all the same, putting their helmets on and smoking one last cigarette before their lives change forever. The last moment of serenity before they would risk it all for 90 tonnes of gold and a handful of fame. That is if they don't die in the meantime.

Jelena was doing just that, standing at the entrance to the hangar in the middle of nowhere, dressed in a military uniform of the Spain's official armored unit, smoking one last Dunhill cigarette and reminiscing about what is going to happen after they finish this heist. Will she go back to Serbia? Or will she 'settle down', finally put an end to her misfit years somewhere on the Tyrrhenian coast of Italy, in Napoli...

"You alright?" said a female voice somewhere on her left. The voice was even, not a glint of stress in it. She was good at being stoic and balanced. Never making others feel like they should panic.

Jelena nodded, took the Dunhill pack out of her pocket and handed it to Nairobi without looking at her. Her accomplice didn't complain, but took out two cigarettes, one which ended up lit two seconds later and one which ended up in the chest pocket of her uniform. The Dunhills were then placed back in Jelena's pocket without her moving a muscle.

"Do you even get anxious?" this question was voiced more tenderly. As if she was testing out some uncharted territory. Which wasn't true, Nairobi was well aware that Jelena couldn't care less about what was happening in the moment. It was just another group project. 

"You know I don't," she answered. Though when Nairobi mumbled a small 'sorry', she knew she sounded more forceful than she intended to. "It's fine," she turned to the raven haired woman and smiled at her, "I never felt anxiety. Not even now. Maybe that's the downside, that I don't really care if I die. I mean, I do. But not because I'm scared of dying, I want to do the plan right. And everyone knows Sergio isn't capable of doing it on his own."

Nairobi stared at her with a strange fascination showing on her face. Her eyes sparkled and her mouth was slightly agape, her features frozen like that long enough for Jelena to recognize the expression she saw only on a very few people before. Long enough for her to turn away and terminate whatever Nairobi was thinking about.

She took another smoke from her cigarette and held her breath. Nairobi appeared closer to her than a moment ago, but she couldn't feel her gaze anymore. Perhaps she was trying to bait out some kind of comforting gesture from Jelena, but Jelena hoped she knew better than that. Although, what could it cost her actually being serious about what Nairobi and her could be?

Jelena gave it a moment of thought and then turned to their master falsifier, curious what she thinks. Nairobi was still looking at her. Her black eyes were like the midnight sky, dark, glittery and spanning beyond infinity. "Tell me," Jelena started, "After the heist finishes would you-"

"The armored unit is on the move." Sergio had a terrible timing, almost as terrible as his sense of humor.

* * *

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘, 𝟓 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐃-𝐃𝐀𝐘

"That is a terrible joke, Sergio," Martin laughed as he patted Sergio on his shoulder. The laughter echoed through the peace and quiet of the monastery as they dined, making Andres smile and Jelena chuckle. 

Sergio was offended. "I thought it was a great joke," he said in his matter-of-fact way. Jelena knew she tended to be that way as well sometimes, though not to the extent to which Sergio was. He was too focused on the facts and the logic that he forgot the only logical thing in some situations is to be illogical.

"It was not funny, little brother, and I'm sure you've offended the ladies in our company," Andres spoke in a sarcastic tone. It was more irritating that he was so smug than the fact that he just addressed her with lady, and in union with Tatiana.

She didn't respond to the bait her friend laid out for her, neither did Tatiana, but she changed the topic the way only she knew how to. "Speaking of ladies, what are you two going to do after the heist?" she used her knife to point from Tatiana to her husband, looking between them.

"I don't know," Tatiana smiled at Andres, "Enjoy the married life. Cocktails on the beach, dancing under the stars, watching sunsets..."

"Sounds romantic," Jelena faked a genuine smile. Andres knew romance didn't interest her, but she was a rare topic of conversation when he talked to his wife. She didn't know a thing about Jelena.

Andres gave her a brief but meaningful look, before looking from her to Martin and to Sergio. He raised his wine glass. The burgundy liquid in it swayed and glowed in the setting sun. "To romance," he called out solemnly, as if it was a mythical deity watching over them.

"To romance," she raised her whiskey glass to meet his, the amber liquid in it dancing in sync with the wine and the orange sunlight that set the scenery around them ablaze.

The other three people raised their glasses and toasted as well, Martin and Tatiana each with a happy grin while Sergio wore only a reluctant smile on his face. All of them were a strange group of people, somehow so fitting yet so different from each other. 

A few silent moments passed while they all sipped on their drinks fused with alcohol, when the redheaded, youthful beauty found it within herself to ask Jelena about what she's going to do after the heist.

"Probably inherit my grandfather's business," the black haired woman replied without much pause. _The old man is surely going to die soon after I come out of hiding when the job is done_ , she thought but didn't say out loud.

"Oh?" Tatiana raised her perfectly shaped eyebrow, "What does your grandfather do?"

Jelena cut a piece of chicken meat on her plate, prepared to put it in her mouth, "He has an insurance company. And a morgue. And a drug cartel." She didn't have a great sense of humor herself, but the look on Tatiana's face was one of the funniest things she saw all month prior to that.

"So you're the granddaughter of the mafia?" the milk tanned woman across from her mused while the men observed their transaction with curiosity.

"That's a way to say it."

"That's the only way to say it," Martin jumped in, "Jelena is going to be the first female mafia boss in Serbia," he paused for dramatic effect, with his index finger raised, "That's gay as well mind you."

Jelena chuckled lightly, "What amazing representation within the most refined circles of organized crime. You seem more excited than I am."

"I know you're excited, too," Martin gave her a half-hug as he leaned to his left and put his hand around her shoulders, "Maybe you should make me your second in command, though. We'd make such a great team shipping drugs and laundering money together."

She shook her head, "I'm not taking you with me to Serbia just so you can screw some sweaty, bearded Serbs who inhale too much cocaine to tell the difference between a man and a woman."

Andres and Martin laughed, as well as Tatiana, but Sergio just remained silent. 

The conversation slowly moved on from topic to topic, until the conversation died down just like the flaming sky as it transcended into a dark blanket peppered with sparkling stars.


	5. 4 | 𝐍𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊

Every now and then Nairobi's shoulder would bump into Belgrade's. It would've been annoying if the action wasn't a constant reminder of how close they were. So close that Belgrade could sense the aroma of Nairobi's shampoo emitted from her jet black hair. Belgrade was aware that her presence evoked distracting thoughts somewhere in the depths of her mind. And the nature of the situation, the adrenaline gathered in the air and her pulse rising were all factors that made her feel lightheaded, prone to doing dumb things. 

Another reminder that she was only human.

She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't realize when the truck stopped and the woman next to her put a hand on her shoulder in order to wake her up from the daze. "Let's go," she said. Then she was up and gone after the other members of their gang.

There was no more time for daydreaming. The plan has officially begun.

She went after the others.

The moment her eyes accommodated themselves to the midday sunlight, she was impressed by the sight before her. A sea of red jumpsuits and Dali masks with big signs and posters high above them. The barricades were barely holding up at the mercy of the angry mob that were Sergio's loyal fans. She was aware the Resistance was loved by many, but hearing about it was one thing and seeing it in person is another.

She didn't allow herself to enter another trance, but instead turned off any thoughts other than the steps necessary for the plan to be pushed into motion. Holding a heavy metal rifle across her chest, she kept her head up and marched with her back straight. Nairobi's tight braid was barely visible from the helmet she wore on her head. She was right in front of Belgrade, Tokyo on her right and Palermo in front of them.

They walked up to the guards stood on the entrance to the Bank of Spain. She couldn't hear much of what was being said, but after a short holdup they were moving inside. 

When they found themselves in the foyer of the building, she noted that it was just as she remembered. Their plan was heavily based on all the accounts from when they've entered that place. Changes were something that would drastically decrease their chances of getting out alive.

"How many people are in the building?" Palermo questioned the old woman at the front security counter of the bank.

"Three hundred and sixty-seven," the woman answered immediately, in a rush. Professor's endless aikido referencing paid off.

She took mental note of how many guards there were, the way that they moved and the orders they gave out. It was all running as smooth as could be expected. The people around them were terrified, blind with fear and following all the orders that the guards barked at them. All was running smooth.

Until- the explosion. 

She pretended this wasn't supposed to happen. That she didn't know her colleagues were planting plastic explosives to the outer walls of the bank, that this took her off guard. Her head hurt- not from the explosion itself, but from the realization that dawned on her because of it. The realization that brought her exhilaration, a high she only felt when she was in the thick of danger.

There was no going back.

She might not have been a romantic in the past, but the plan was running as smooth as waltz performed by the most talented of dancers. She wished _he_ could be there to see it. It was like a poem, crafted at the hands of Shakespeare, Petrarca and Dante together, or a story retold by Homer, a story worthy of being carried through generations as to not be forgotten.

Perhaps she thought about it way too soon.

Her excitement will soon come to an end. As soon as one stupid, stuck up old man with a coronary heart disease and a death wish dared to defy the orders from the 'above'. She understood his undying need for serving something higher than himself, for trying to be brave and righteous for the citizens of his country. She really did. She understood it and she felt compelled to help him die an honorable man by blowing his brains out right then and there, so they fly out of his skull and stick right to the wall behind him and then-

"If you want me to exit this building, you will have to sit and wait until everyone else is evacuated. Then I will go," the governor spoke in a calm and collected way, completely unfazed by the situation. As if he was at the risk of getting blown up every day.

Nairobi turned her head and nodded at Belgrade. There's no way she was being serious. Though, Belgrade knew better than to sabotage the only chance they had of taking the governor under their control. So she followed the younger woman to the heavy office table and sat on one of the two chairs in front of it.

"Tea?" the old man offered, but they politely declined.

Nairobi started answering some of his questions, talking some nonsense about the war and weapons. Belgrade was using that time to create a strategy of how they were going to take on his five guards. If there had been four of them... 

And then there was Gandia. The man that was the worst of them all, right there- two meters to her right. Next to the bathroom. Would she be able to surprise and be quicker than an ex mercenary who spent years hunting people and making them simply disappear off the face of the earth?

Nairobi was getting her gun ready.

"May I use the bathroom?" Belgrade said as calmly and as pleasantly as she could. Yet in a tone that wouldn't seem as if she was forcing it.

The governor nodded, "Certainly. Feel free to use mine." He motioned over to the door next to the tall man with a bald head and a thunderous glare.

"Thank you," she stood up, casually, walking over to the bathroom as if she wasn't about to knock out the Bank of Spain's head of security.

Which is exactly what she did.

Gandia was too naive to trust his country's military, apparently. His guard was down, at least enough for her to be able to hit him right in the side of the neck, striking the vagus nerve and causing the man to pass out and crumple to the ground. She stepped on his neck, already pointing her gun at two of the guards, while Nairobi had the other two secured under her aim.

Everything happened so fast that the guards barely had time to blink.

Governor's secretary screamed and dropped the expensive porcelain teacup, the dark liquid soaking into the floorboards. The governor finally seemed worried. But only slightly.

"Mr. Governor," Belgrade smiled, "I believe you really have to come with us now." She circled around the heavy office desk, grabbed the governor and pressed the nozzle of her glock to the side of his head. Her index finger was itching to pull the trigger, but she controlled the impulse and promised herself there'd be another time for that.

"Now if you'll excuse us," Nairobi told the guards as Belgrade brought the governor to her side.

The three of them moved forward, forcing the guards to step backwards. Belgrade started circling around them, so focused on them that she didn't pay attention to the slight movement in the corner of her eye.

By the time she actually turned to look, Gandia had already fixed Nairobi in a chokehold while holding a gun to her head.

It was like slow motion. Blood rushed to Jelena's head. Her pulse was the only sound ringing through her ears. It was like a clock, ticking and counting seconds to the time when the bald man was going to pull the trigger. Except that moment never came and Jelena thought an eternity had passed until he spoke.

"Release the governor," he demanded, "You won't shoot him, but I'll shoot the girl."

Belgrade felt offended, "You're underestimating me, Gandia. I've killed people both older and more important than him. Now I'll count to three and if you don't release her, good old governor is going to die and not even know it."

A heavy silence hung in the air, and Belgrade would have grinned from ear to ear had it not been for the terror in Nairobi's eyes.

"Let the girl go, Gandia," the grey haired man hissed, and when his obedient dog hesitated, his tone became forceful, "That's an order, let her go! There's no need for anyone to get hurt."

The next two and a half minutes passed in fluid motion. Belgrade was convinced that from the moment that Gandia let Nairobi go to the moment that they were entering the elevator with the governor, there had only been a heartbeat of time. Though, time started stretching out as soon as she saw the black fabric of governor's suit rush towards her face and felt the bone of his elbow strike her nose hard enough to make it bleed, but not hard enough to break it.

A lapse in judgement and a second of not paying attention cost them their most prized possession in that moment, because the governor charged out of the elevator just as the heavy steel doors were closing.

She felt hot blood run down and over her lips, its metallic taste a cruel reminder of how real this situation was. The door of the elevator dinged and the breezy chime brought back a thought she had earlier, creating a hazy feeling of déjà vu- there was certainly no going back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kinda a filler chapter, idk rly lol


End file.
